


The Future's So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

by left_uncovered



Series: Better Version Of Me [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Selfcest, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, sex tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_uncovered/pseuds/left_uncovered
Summary: This time, it's Jeremy who's flung through time.Jer and Michael fuck. Jeremy watches.





	The Future's So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Better Version Of Me. There are some references to that fic in here, but it should still make sense, even if you haven't read it.

His dad is wearing pants today. That’s probably the first sign that something is wrong.

“Jeremy! I thought you weren’t coming home for half an hour.”

His dad is wearing pants, and a nice work suit Jeremy hasn’t seen in months, _and_ an expression that doesn’t scream post-marital misery. Jeremy had nearly run into him when he’d walked through the front door. It’s weird, that he’d decided some random Friday night was the perfect time to get his life back together, but Jeremy’s not going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

“Uh, guess I’m early today,” he says. He eyes the brief case and car keys in his dad’s hands. “Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting a client in New Brunswick. I won’t be back until late, so I left you some pizza money. And I know it’s a Friday, but don’t stay up too late with Michael, okay?”

He gives Jeremy a stern look before his face dissolves into a grin.

Jeremy wrinkles his nose. “Michael?”

“I know you’re both excited to see each other again, but it’s important you get your rest.”

“Sure,” Jeremy says, because it’s easier than trying to parse the meaning of this conversation.

Since when does his dad even care about how late he stays up? Or talk about him and Michael being _excited to see each other again_ , whatever that’s supposed to mean? He likes being around Michael, but Michael’s become such a permanent fixture in the Heere household these days, he’s surprised his dad would talk about his presence being _exciting_. Besides, he doesn’t even remember making plans to hang out with Michael tonight. They’ve kind of been fighting lately, some trivial argument that began over video games and somehow escalated into a shouting match. That’s been happening a lot lately, often enough now that it’s beginning to freak Jeremy out. Not that he’s shared that with his dad, of all people.

His dad, who mystifyingly seems to have sensed something is wrong, pausing in the doorway to look him in the eye, snapping him out of his stupor.

“Are you all right, Jeremy?”

He nods. “I’m great,” he lies. “See you later.”

His dad actually ruffles his hair on the way out. Jeremy watches him drive off through the window, dumbfounded.

He’s not entirely convinced his dad hasn’t been replaced by a body snatcher, but if a body snatcher is willing to wear pants and give parental advice then maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Jeremy takes the stairs to his room two steps at a time. It’s been a long week, and he kind of just wants to jerk it and pass out on his bed for ten hours. He’s humming tunelessly to himself, already working on undoing his jeans, as he pushes the door open and – there’s Michael.

“Jer! Hey,” he says, face splitting into a grin. “You’re early.”

Jeremy freezes. And then he pops the button of his jeans back into place and pulls the zip up.

Michael laughs as he gets up off Jeremy’s bed, walking towards him. “Wow, someone’s excited. I know it’s been a while but –”

“I didn’t know you were coming over today,” Jeremy says, mortified.

“You were the one who invited me?” Michael says, but it comes out as a question. And then Jeremy must really be hallucinating because Michael leans in, pressing their foreheads together, and says, “Hey. Missed you.”

Jeremy scrambles backward before their lips can meet. What the _fuck_.

“Are you _gaslighting_ me?” he demands.

“What?”

Michael just looks confused, and Jeremy is suddenly furious at the monumental unfairness of it all. He can’t possibly know how Jeremy feels about him, can’t know how much it hurts to have him play this up as a joke, but it’s still a dick move.

“I know you’re mad at me, but Jesus, this is going a bit too far.”

Michael reaches for him again and Jeremy takes a frightened step back.

“I’m not mad at you, what the hell Jeremy –”

He hears the distant sound of footsteps padding down the hall to his room, and great, now his dad is going to witness them having some kind of friendship meltdown. Except when the door swings open, that’s not his dad’s voice.

“Hey Michael, sorry I took a while I –”

Jeremy spins around, and _holy shit._

He almost stops breathing because _he knows that face_. Knows it like his own, in fact. He knows that body, too, because he’d been pinned underneath it just a few months ago, his face mashed against Jer’s. His clothes and posture and tone are different, but it’s still _him_.

A thousand different emotions surge through him at once: panic, disbelief, relief, and fine, yes, mild arousal.

“It’s you,” he says, breathless.

Jer looks equally shocked. “Yeah.”

_Jer’s fingers pressing bruises into his hips, his mouth wet and warm around Jeremy, his cock deep inside him, rubbing against his prostate –_

Oh fuck. Focus, Jeremy.

“What grade are you in?” he asks, the words coming out so fast they run together.

“Twelfth,” Jer says. “You?”

“Eleventh,” Jeremy answers. “Holy shit.”

“No kidding.”

They just stare at each other for a few seconds, unsure what to do. And that’s weird too, because he’d kind of expected Jer would take charge, if their last interaction was anything to go by.

“Uh, guys?” Michael says. “Still here.”

They spin around in sync to look at him.

“So, I guess you weren’t lying about meeting your past self,” Michael says slowly. He’s strangely calm for someone who’s just met his friend’s time travelling younger self.

Jeremy isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s saved from having to by Jer letting out a whoop that is so painfully uncool it makes him wince.

“I told you!” Jer crows. “I told you I wasn’t making that up!”

Michael snorts.

“…Or about fucking him, apparently,” he says, gesturing in the general direction of Jeremy’s poorly concealed boner.

Jeremy goes red, his earlier anger at Michael replaced with an acute sense of betrayal at Jer.

“You told him about that?!” He hides his face in his hands, so his next words come out muffled. “Oh god. That was one time!”

“But several orgasms,” Jer muses. Jeremy wonders if it’s possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

Michael pats him on the back. “It’s okay. Healthy couples communicate,” he says sagely.

Jeremy peeks out from between his fingers. His brain is so busy processing the clusterfuck of combined embarrassment from earlier that he doesn’t immediately catch Michael’s words.

“Healthy couples?” he asks, looking between Michael and Jer, who smiles sheepishly and colors. And then it dawns on Jeremy.

“Oh my god! You figured it out. You and Michael figured it out!”

Jer shrugs, and it’s such a recognizably faux-casual Jeremiah Heere gesture, it’s relieving.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he says.

A warm bright happiness swells in Jeremy’s chest. He can’t stop smiling. He wants to jump around his room like a little kid because _he and Michael figure it out_. They might be fighting now, but a year later they’ll be together and Michael will greet him with kisses when he comes over to play video games.

And then he realizes he’ll still have to figure out _how_ to figure it out because there’s no way Jer and his Michael will tell him, and that kind of dampens the mood.

“Hey, you said I’d be cool by now,” he tells Jer instead, because he doesn’t want to worry about that when he still has the fight with his Michael to work out.

Jer and Michael both wince. Jeremy doesn’t miss the way they reach for each other’s hands, Michael brushing his fingers lightly over Jer’s knuckles. Michael suddenly won’t meet his eyes.

“You know, being cool isn’t everything,” Jer says, and he sounds so much like his dad or his guidance counselor that Jeremy almost rolls his eyes.

“That’s not what you said last time,” he accuses.

Jer takes a deep breath and purses his lips, as if measuring his words.

“I’m different now,” he says eventually.

“You’re not Jer?”

“No,” Jer says, and then makes a face. “I mean, I am, but – I’m different.”

“You’re a lot nicer,” Jeremy points out.

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.”

It’s obvious there’s so much he’s left unsaid, but Jeremy knows if he asks Jer will just feed him the same line about not messing up the timeline. He’s probably already said too much, just confirming he and Michael have gotten together. At least he has that to look forward to.

“Do you at least have sex?” Jeremy asks, not really caring if he embarrasses Jer and Michael, since they did it to him first.

Except they don’t look embarrassed at all, matching Cheshire Cat grins creeping onto their faces.

“Oh yeah. So much sex. All the sex,” Michael says nodding. Jeremy resists the urge to fist pump. Hell _yeah_.

Then he takes a moment to consider the logistics of it, remembering the last time he’d seen Jer, how he’d fucked him until he couldn’t see straight, and decides he might as well milk vague question hour for all it’s worth. “So, are we a top or a bottom?”

Jer just stares him down.

“Yes,” he says, totally deadpan.

 _Double_ hell yeah.

Michael clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, digging the toe of his shoe into the floor. “We were just gonna…” He looks at Jer knowingly, and Jer looks back.

Oh shit, Jeremy thinks. That makes sense. It begins slotting into place: his dad talking about him missing Michael, Michael talking about missing him, teasing him about being excited… Oh god, he’d just interrupted reunion sex. Well, not interrupted, because he’d gotten here first, but still.

“Um. I’ll just…go,” he says. “Dad’s in New Brunswick the rest of the night. I’ll, uh, order the pizza, I guess. Yeah _._ The pizza.” _For when you need to refuel after all the sex you’re about to have._

Jer and Michael just look at him then between each other, in what must be the most bizarre non-verbal blinking conversation he’s ever witnessed. The swirling mix of emotions in him has drained away, replaced by a suffocating awkwardness. He never though he’d be sexiled by a future version of himself, but here he is.

Glancing at Jer and Michael’s still-intertwined fingers, he finds he also feels an uncomfortable hollowness. Like he’s been left out. He wants to be the one holding Michael’s hand, he thinks, before he fully processes the absurdity of being jealous of himself.

He’s already halfway out the door, resigned to just jerking off in the bathroom and spending the rest of the night watching TV, when Michael’s hand closes around his wrist, surprisingly gentle.

“You could stay, you know,” he says, thumb tracing over the inside of Jeremy’s wrist, settling over his pulse point.

He looks up, soft brown eyes right on Jeremy’s, and Jeremy chokes on his words. “Stay?” he manages to force out.

Michael nods. “You don’t have to take care of that on your own,” he says.

His other hand reaches out to palm the front of Jeremy’s jeans, reviving his flagging erection. Jeremy sucks in a breath, dizzy with sudden arousal. Michael keeps rubbing him through the fabric, maddeningly slow, until his hips start bucking into his touch.

“You could watch,” Michael says, voice smooth and soft and low. “Or,” and now he cups Jeremy, squeezing lightly, forcing a gasp out of him. “You could join in?”

Jeremy’s brain short circuits.

“We’re not the jealous type, are we?” he asks Jer, voice coming out breathy. “Don’t mind sharing?”

Jer laughs. “I think this hardly counts as sharing, given the circumstances. So, are you staying?”

Jeremy closes his eyes, his hand stilling Michael’s, gently pulling it away from the front of his jeans. He can’t think when he’s being touched like that.

He’s been on edge the whole day, the stress from the week and his fight with Michael finally catching up with him. His foolproof coping mechanism has always been to rub one out, so he was going to get off tonight anyway. And any lingering shame he had over Jer fucking him evaporated by the third time he’d used their encounter as jerk-off material.

It’s not Jer who’s giving him pause, but Michael, he realizes. He wants his first time with Michael to be with _his_ Michael, not this one, who’s only into him because Jer’s already gone and done all the work for them. He wants to earn Michael’s affection, be the kind of boyfriend who deserves to be with him. And he doesn’t want to be that guy who gets in between reunion sex.

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

“I think I just want to watch.”

“Great,” Michael says, giving him a goofy, disarming smile – too soft and casual for what they’re about to do, Jeremy thinks. But it makes his shoulders untense all the same.

Michael pulls out Jeremy’s desk chair and sets it down in front of his bed.

“There,” he says, gesturing at the chair with a little flourish, as Jer snickers in the background. “Front row seat.”

“God, I can’t believe you two,” Jeremy says, settling into the chair, wondering if this is what he and Michael always look like to everyone else.

“No need to be jealous, Jeremy. You’ll have your turn soon enough,” Jer says. He doesn’t even bother looking at him as he says it, too preoccupied with pulling Michael’s hoodie off.

Jeremy leans back in the chair, palming his dick through his pants lazily, Michael’s touch having already gotten him fully hard.

Jer is still struggling with the hoodie. He makes a frustrated little noise when it gets caught around Michael’s shoulders, pawing at it impatiently. Michael just laughs and gets it the rest of the way off, letting it drop onto the floor and pulling Jer in, so they’re standing chest-to-chest. One hand settles on his hip, playing with the hem of his shirt to expose a sliver of pale skin, while the other cups his cheek. Jer’s eyes fall shut, and he turns his face into Michael’s touch.

Michael’s voice is so soft when he speaks again that it makes something deep inside Jeremy ache, makes him feel like he’s intruding on a too-private moment.

“Hey, slow down. I’m here, okay?”

Jer inhales slowly and nods, resting his forehead against Michael’s.

“Sorry,” he says. “I haven’t touched myself since you left for that conference. I’m kind of on a hair trigger.” He moves Michael’s hand from his hip to the front of his jeans, undoes the button and lays his hand on top of Michael’s to press it against the bulge in his boxers. “See?” he murmurs.

Michael’s expression shifts from tender to hungry, and that little flicker of lust in his eyes makes Jeremy’s pants feel too tight. He pulls them off in a rush, trying not to make too much noise.

“Bed,” Michael orders.

Jer scrambles to comply, pulling his shirt, then his boxers off with his jeans. He settles on the bed with his legs spread wide, totally unselfconscious. Jeremy blushes at how exposed he looks, lying there in only his socks, his cock hard and curving up toward his stomach. Jeremy doesn’t know what it says about him, that he can’t stop staring at the head of Jer’s dick, knowing just how sensitive he is, imagining how badly he must want Michael to touch him there with his hands or mouth. He swipes his thumb over the head of his own dick, sucking in a gasp at the sharp pleasure. It’s been a while for him, too.

Michael’s gotten his own shirt and pants off, and is stroking himself slowly, eyes trained on Jer. Jeremy’s so fixated on the plane of Michael’s back, all the swaths of skin he’s longed to touch but never even seen before, that it takes him a while to realize that _holy shit that’s Michael’s dick_. And when he does, the awe and arousal hit him all over again: that’s Michael’s dick, hard because he’s about to fuck Jer, who is him, which means in a year that will be Jeremy lying there on the bed, staring up at Michael, getting ready to be fucked into the next week.

“Michael, c’mon, do something,” Jer whines. He has one hand fisted in the sheets, the other resting on his stomach, above his cock. It looks like he wants to reach for it, touch himself and relieve some of the pressure, but won’t. It’s a punch to the gut when Jeremy realizes he’s waiting for Michael’s permission.

Michael doesn’t touch him. Instead, he leans down and sucks a bruise into Jer’s collarbone, earning him a whine. Jeremy wishes he could see better – the angle’s no good from here – but Jer’s high, needy noises are enough. When Michael’s done with his collarbone, he starts kissing down his chest, pausing to suck a hard nipple into his mouth.

Jeremy groans. He didn’t even know his nipples were sensitive; he’d always been so preoccupied with his dick and prostate when he’d jerk off that he’d never even thought to check. But if the wounded little noises Jer is making are any indication, it must feel good.

He pushes his shirt up around his elbows and keeps jerking his dick, other hand trailing up his chest slowly, leaving gooseflesh along the way. When he gives his nipple a tentative squeeze, it’s like a direct line to his cock. He gasps, letting go, forcing himself to breathe through the sudden shock of arousal.

“Good, huh?” Jer says from the bed, where Michael’s still teasing his nipples.

Jeremy laughs shakily. “You – you didn’t tell me I liked that. Before,” he says. He takes his cock in his grip again, hissing at the growing sensitivity.

“Had to leave some surprises for you, right?”

Jesus Christ, Jeremy is beginning to wonder if his entire body is just one giant erogenous zone. _Hopefully not_ , his lust-addled brain supplies, _because then you’d never leave your room_.

When Michael finally pulls off his chest, he leans far enough back that Jeremy gets a good view of just how red and swollen Jer’s nipples are. He’s leaked a small pool of precome onto his belly, which Michael traces two fingers through. He brings his fingers up to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean.

Jer groans. “Michael, please, no more teasing.”

Michael rests his hand on Jeremy's thigh, tracing slow circles on his skin.

“You want me to touch your cock, Jer?”

Jer shudders. “No. No, wanna come on your cock. Just your cock. Please.”

Michael smiles, small and fond, and leans down to kiss Jer, who surges up against him, desperate.

“Such a good boy,” he says against the corner of Jer’s mouth. When he pulls away, Jer tries to follow, lips still puckered, but Michael just laughs and pushes him back against the bed gently.

Michael props his hips up and slides a pillow underneath them. Jer’s legs spread open again, exposing his hole.

Jeremy squeezes hard around his cock when he sees how badly Jer is twitching, clenching hard around nothing. It’s a familiar desperation, a familiar desire – to be filled up, to be taken. He’d spent so many nights on his knees on this same bed, fingers buried deep inside him, frantically rubbing against that sensitive spot until he couldn’t take it anymore and came all over the sheets, wishing for someone else’s fingers, their mouth, their cock.

Michael reaches into the bedside table for the lube, pouring it over his fingers and slicking them up. He’s murmuring sweet nothings to Jer all the while, promising it’ll only be a little while longer.

When he finally pushes two fingers in, Jer makes a punched out, ragged noise, eyes springing open to look directly at Michael. It stuns Jeremy when he sees Jer’s eyes are glassy, already in tears. He’d always tried to hold them in as long as possible, afraid that if he didn’t train himself out of crying, he’d freak out whoever he next had sex with. It almost gives him secondhand embarrassment, watching Jer expose himself like this, but Jer doesn’t seem to care, and by the looks of it, neither does Michael.

“There,” Michael says, fingers moving inside him. “That feels better, right?”

Jer nods, face red. “So good. Love your fingers, Michael.” His voice is wobbling now, sounding stuffy and watery.

Michael must brush his prostate on the next thrust, because then Jer cries out, and the tears spill over.

“Hey, hey,” Michael says. He withdraws his fingers and scoots up Jer’s body, so they’re face-to-face. Jer isn’t making any noise, lower lip trembling, tears sliding down his cheeks. Michael wipes them away carefully and brushes the hair matted with sweat away from his forehead.

“Love you, too,” he whispers. He kisses Jer’s forehead. “Love filling you up.” His nose. “Love making you feel good.” The corners of both his eyes. “Love it when you let go like this.”

Jer lets out a shaky laugh and pulls Michael closer, so their foreheads press together. “Love when you let me.”

Jeremy watches numbly, a hollow cold sensation settling in his stomach. He’s so turned on, a few good strokes from coming, but he also feels awful suddenly, and he doesn’t know _why_. He tries to focus on Michael and Jer, rid himself of the sinking feeling.

“You ready to be fucked now?” Michael asks, and Jer nods. “Please.”

Michael rolls the condom on, fits his cock at Jer’s entrance and pushes in slowly.

Jer grips his arm hard, leaving little red intents. “Faster,” he orders, but Michael just shushes him.

“Want you to feel it,” he says. Jer answers with a groan.

When Michael’s all the way inside him, he leans down to drape himself over Jer, bracketing his body with his thighs, so he’s covering him completely. Jeremy distantly wonders what that must feel like. Safe, probably.

He can’t see much now, can only see the rhythmic snapping of Michael’s hips, the dark flush on the back of his neck. He can hear Michael murmuring little words of praise at Jer, about how good he looks, how tight he is around him, how well he’s doing. Jer answers with short little gasps.

Jeremy knows he’s getting close when the sounds become louder and more breathless, more desperate. His own dick is leaking nearly continuously now, getting his hand and stomach all sticky. He reaches down with his other hand to tease his perineum, then slides a finger farther back, choking back a moan when he pushes just the tip in.

Jer is crying out Michael’s name on every thrust now, voice totally wrecked. Michael is just holding him, one hand cupping his cheek, the other intertwined with Jer’s, pinning it to the bed.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “I’m here, I’m here. Come on, Jeremy.”

It’s the sound of his name from Michael’s lips that does it for Jeremy, pushing him over the edge as he works his too-sensitive cock, biting down on his lip, trying hard not to make any noise that could spoil the moment for them.

Jer comes a moment later, and Michael kisses him through his orgasm until his body stops shaking, and he thrusts weakly up against Michael, urging him to keep going.

Michael says his name again when he comes, chokes it out, low and rough, before collapsing on top of Jer.

Jeremy watches them kiss lazily for a few minutes, Michael still inside Jer. He eventually pulls out, rolling off him and to the side, and tying off the condom. Jer snuggles in under his arm, eyes shut, looking so blissed out and content.

Jeremy wonders what the fuck he’s even still doing here. He wipes his hand off on his shirt – which he knows is disgusting, but whatever, he’ll do the laundry later – and pulls his pants and boxers back on as discreetly as he can, getting ready to leave, when Jer says, “Come here.” He pats the tiny space next to him on the bed.

Jeremy focuses on zipping his jeans up so he doesn't have to look at them. “Nah, it’s okay,” he says. “There’s barely enough room for the two of you as is.”

He just really wants to be alone. He doesn’t usually get mopey like this after an orgasm, but it’s happened a couple of times before, so he knows it’s a thing with him. It would happen mostly on the nights he’d get himself off to thoughts of Michael, returning to his senses only to discover Michael had not in fact materialized in his room during the afterglow. So really, this shouldn’t be that surprising. His orgasms have always been intense, and sometimes he just wishes there were someone there with him after, to hold him while he’s coming down.

It occurs to him that he’s an idiot, because right now there are _two_ someones offering him a space on their bed, and he’s turning them down. But he just can’t be around them right now, doesn’t think he should be around _anyone_ right now.

Michael and Jer are beginning to look concerned. That’s his cue.

“I’ll order the pizza,” he says, getting up off the chair and heading for the door.

He washes up in the bathroom, hating the sickly pale face the mirror returns, then makes a detour to the laundry room to drop off his shirt and take a new one from the growing pile of unfolded clothes he’s been neglecting.

He makes himself a little nest on the couch out of throw pillows and the blanket from the linen closet. Might as well be comfortable if he’s going to be sleeping here tonight. He’s just finished ordering the pizza when Michael comes padding down the stairs. He seats himself on the couch next to Jeremy.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Just ordered the pizza,” Jeremy says, setting the phone down on the coffee table and forcing a smile.

Michael nudges him with his shoulder. “You okay?”

Jeremy shrugs.

Michael looks at him uncertainly. “Was that too weird?” he asks, and Jeremy can’t shake his head fast enough. He doesn’t want them to think they’re the ones with a problem.

“It’s my fault. Michael and I – my Michael, not you, obviously – are kind of fighting right now,” Jeremy says, not caring if his explanation makes sense. “It sucks.”

“Your Michael.”

Jeremy feels himself blush, getting ready to backtrack, but then Michael purses his lips and says, “Yeah, I remember that.”

“No chance you’ll tell me how to fix it?” Jeremy jokes, but Michael just smiles at him sadly.

“You know I can’t do that.” He waves his hand carelessly. “Timeline and all.”

Jeremy punches the pillow lightly in frustration. “That’s the thing, though,” he says. “I know you and Jer figured it out but what if I never do? What if _that’s_ what messes up the timeline? What if I mess this up with my Michael and we never…” he trails off. Just thinking about it, about him never having what Jer and his Michael have, makes him feel sick. When he remembers how tenderly Michael had fucked Jer, how he’d gentled him through his orgasm and held him in the afterglow, and measures it against what he and his Michael have now, all he sees is an unbridgeable gulf between present and future. He hopes this isn't an “only one of many possible futures” deal, because then what if he screws up and it never happens? He doesn’t want tonight to be another door closing in his face.

He doesn’t know how to explain all that to Michael, but the way Michael looks at him across the couch says he probably doesn’t have to.

“I hate fighting with him,” Jeremy says instead, tucking his feet underneath himself and pulling the throw over his body, fists balling in the fabric.

Michael laughs. “Believe me, he hates it, too.”

His next words come out sounding too petulant, but he doesn't care. “You guys love each other a lot.”

Michael scoots closer and lays his hand on top of Jeremy’s, makes him slowly uncurl his fingers from around the blanket. He laces their fingers together in Jeremy’s lap.

“He loves you a lot, you know.”

Michael’s palm is warm and his grip is firm and steady. Jeremy doesn’t know how he can want something he already has in the moment, but he does.

“Yeah, just not the way I want him to,” he says, looking away. “Can I just stay here with you guys?”

That startles a laugh out of Michael. “Your Michael probably misses you,” he says.

“Right.”

“It’s true!” Michael enthuses. “He wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Jeremy pulls his hand away to pick at a loose thread on the couch because he doesn’t know what to say back.

He wonders if Michael is just going to sit there in silence with him for the rest of the night, but then he says, “You should come back upstairs. There’s room in the bed for you, too, you know. It’s kind of a limited time offer, since you could wind up back home any minute now.”

Jeremy does kind of feel better, but he isn’t sure if he wants to keep intruding on them and dangling what he doesn’t have in front of his face.

Michael rises from the couch and sticks his hand out. “We can even play video games. You and Jer versus me. You might actually win this time, now that there’s two of you.”

It’s such a Michael thing to say that it makes the ache in his chest recede a little. He snorts, remembering his conversation with Jer from several months ago. “So are video games cool again?”

Michael grins, and Jeremy thinks, maybe things won't go so bad. “Always were,” he says. “Come on.”

Jeremy takes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [Tumblr.](https://softfists.tumblr.com)


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